


Payback

by Rynfinity



Series: Life in the Suburbs [2]
Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Lingerie, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 06:56:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5530148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rynfinity/pseuds/Rynfinity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Loki blinks awake.  It’s lighter in the room than he expected somehow, and he has to pee so badly it’s almost an emergency.  He struggles up onto his elbows and looks at the wreck that is their bed.  Thor is backed up against the wall, snoring gently, while he himself is tangled in a marshmallow cloud of sheets and comforters.  His body is pink-striped where the garter belt has dug into his skin.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Payback

**Author's Note:**

> Loki blinks awake. It’s lighter in the room than he expected somehow, and he has to pee so badly it’s almost an emergency. He struggles up onto his elbows and looks at the wreck that is their bed. Thor is backed up against the wall, snoring gently, while he himself is tangled in a marshmallow cloud of sheets and comforters. His body is pink-striped where the garter belt has dug into his skin.

Once Loki gets an idea in his head, he just can't let it go. Sometimes it's awesome; sometimes it's horrific. Obsession: the good taken with the bad. It's at once his best trait and his most dysfunctional one. But this particular idea is nothing short of perfect. A keeper, most definitely. As plans go, he has no doubt whatsoever; it numbers among his most awesome.

Still, it’s an obsession. He's been chewing on it for over a year now, ever since Frigga had sent the two of them – him, Thor – off in search of the nicest possible (dressy, gorgeous) suits. Which they’d found, and then some. Specifically, the idea had come to him in the fitting room… just after he’d discovered that Thor had gone shopping commando.

Payback, this.

Beautiful, spectacular payback.

Loki intends to wear his suit over lingerie, fabulous lingerie, and he plans to surprise Thor when he does it. And while he hasn’t got any particular lingerie kink (at least as far as he knows), that won’t matter. Because it’s not going to be the getup getting him off, if you will. No, the expression on Thor face is what he thinks will really do it for him.

Unfortunately, it’s not an easy idea to put into practice. In fact, despite the unholy amount of time he’s spent thinking about it, finding just the right time has been proving seriously challenging. Loki wants to pull this off properly, which means shopping and prep and careful staging. It means not bring stressed or rushed, and not worrying about being barged in upon. Oh, and it means having a good, solid reason to be “stuck” – and it’s not really that, because they do like dressing up and looking good for one another - wearing suits at all. Something fancy, but also enjoyable… a show, maybe, or a really posh dinner. In other words, nothing that routinely happens in the day-to day life of two college students.

~

He doesn’t intend to rule out holidays, not right away. The first Christmas just happens to be awful timing. It follows far too closely on the proverbial heels of Laufey's trial, for starters. That, and they know their parents have expectations… because it’s the first holiday in a quite a while that they've been able to really celebrate. They’re going to be going back home and spending time together as a family, Loki's or Thor's. Both, most likely.

New Year's Eve is way too obvious, especially since the two of them aren’t fans of _amateur night_ and always (anti-)celebrate by staying in. Once Frigga and Odin head out for the evening, even Thor’s going to wonder why Loki’s still pushing for dressing up… only to insist on the usual (staying home and flopping on the couch to share pizza). Worse of all, everything about it is- well, nothing like what he's going for.

Next up: Valentine's Day. It’s a non-starter. Along with being utterly tacky, it’s at least as obvious as New Year’s would have been. Worst of all, any decent restaurant near school will be overrun with awkward, flustered student couples and full of tired, annoyed waitstaff. Yeah, no. Loki doesn’t even waste time thinking about it. Instead he and Thor spend their evening in the largely abandoned dorms, in Thor's room, sixty-nine-ing one another until they're dehydrated and shaky. Loki’s Awesome Plan or no, it's a great way to spend the holiday… that much, no one's arguing.

Besides, their mouths are full anyway.

Eventually summer comes around again, bringing with it hot, humid weather and fresh hope. A nice, long block of time spent together at home holds much greater promise than did a few cheesy holidays at school. Loki leaves campus excited, determined, and hopeful that he’s only weeks from putting his plan into action.

When they first arrive back in town, though, life proves simply too- too _everything_. It’s too soon after Laufey's unexpected death. The two of them are too busy with work. Within a couple of weeks, the weather is just too sweltering hot. Odin and Frigga are always around, too, and everyone is far too busy getting ready for the Famous Borson Party.

When it all adds up to more they can handle (both of them, really, but Loki feels like he’s getting the worst of it) they grab a weekend away and spend it _proposing to propose_ to one another. They go all out, complete with rings and _bended knee_ and the kind of spectacular, sandy beach fucks that leave you finding sand in all your crevices for days afterwards, but the atmosphere just isn't right for the suit play. They're at the shore; hot, sunny, sweaty, naked. Dirty. Raw, unrefined. Sated. Loki isn't sure he's ever been more in love.

They don't really have an anniversary. The two of them have been together forever and celebrating _the day we went from inappropriately close childhood besties to law-breaking underaged fornicators_ feels just a little too tasteless. A lot, maybe. They've never really even sat down and tried to figure out when their special day (ugh!) would fall, let alone made any effort to recognize it.

Birthdays couldn’t be less subtle. There's no way Loki could surprise Thor by serving himself up as a birthday gift, and he knows it. No one is that oblivious, not even Thor.

It's about the time Loki catches himself thinking that (and realizes that fate's been finding every excuse in the book to deprive him of his special want for an entire year), that it hits him: the best reason is no reason. No reason at all.

They'll have dinner out some random night (random from Thor's perspective), just to give themselves a little lift after the middle of the semester. Loki will make them a reservation at the stylish little jazz club in town, the one the more interesting faculty frequent. The two of them have talked about going there from time to time but have never found cause (or the courage) to do so. Once they’ve agreed to it, though, the basics of talking Thor into dressing up will be easy… Loki and Thor do have their suits here at school, in case they need to interview, and just about everything else they own (or, at least, what they’ve brought with them to college; back at his parents’ house Thor does keep an impressively full closet for someone whose favorite state is _complete naked_ ) is far too casual.

All in all, the nice little place will serve as the perfect excuse for some random October-ish suiting.

~

Once the _when_ is out of the way, though, Loki quickly realizes that the rest of his scheme will prove differently tricky.

He and Thor still have their own rooms, on paper. More than that, probably, because it’s not like Loki’s room has ceased to exist. It’s still there, real as ever, and he does often use it. The convenient fact that the two of them really only sleep (and “sleep”) in Thor's room is just that; convenient. Equally handy is the way Loki does still go back to his own room to hole up and study, at least on the days he really needs to focus.

Like today.

Today, where Loki is curled up on his own bed (among stacks of books and out-of-season laundry) busily _focusing_ on thigh-high stockings. Because the big event is going to be an evening thing, and even Thor’s dorm room isn’t inherently sexy no matter how many times they’ve screwed one another’s brains out in it, he ultimately skips over the more virtuous lighter colors in favor of off-black. Loki has long, slender, sculpted legs, made all the nicer (at least that’s what Thor tells him, and this part is all about Thor) by his semesters of crew: lean, defined thighs above shapely calves (sporting neatly perfect fistfuls of muscle that are neither too large nor too high); bony knees and ankles, each of them exactly the right degree of _knobby_ ; high-arched, delicate feet.

All of it taken collectively holds up pretty much the only thing in the known universe that makes Thor wax poetic:

Loki’s ass.

He spends an entire evening curled up with his computer, poring over images of men (and women) in everything from fishnets to opaque tights. And while he does find several workable options, Loki ends up liking the thigh-high ones with the rear seams – the sexily-practical kind, the ones with the reinforced, squared-of Cuban heels that look stunning with dressy pumps while still standing half a chance of making it through dinner – best. A black garter belt, simple in front but with an intricate interlaced back.

The search for the perfect panties, taken separately, makes for another full evening’s shopping. Loki has never been particularly hairy, and he plans to clean things up on his legs one way or another, but he discovered early in their college career that Thor is no fan of (always with big, huge air quotes) _manscaping_. Instead, Thor wants to be able to burrow deep into the warm, musky nest of dark curls that surrounds Loki’s dick, and Loki’s very quickly learned not to try and stop his boyfriend. “I didn’t like you all scratchy,” Thor occasionally protests, even years later. “I love how soft your hair is. I love” – this last part invariably accompanied by enthusiastic nuzzling, the kind that gives Loki chills just thinking about it – “burying my face in it. I love the way you feel and the way you taste and the way you smell. Promise me you’ll never take it off again. Not any of it.” And Loki has to admit he does get where Thor’s coming from… while he likes the idea, at least, of the clean visual aesthetic of being closer to _bare_ , he can’t deny how much he too enjoys letting Thor’s own coarser gold curls glide through his fingers.

Picking them out of his mouth? Okay, sure, that Loki could live without. But Thor really never seems bothered by it. And so, “I promise,” he tells Thor every time. And every time, Thor makes Loki’s sacrifice worth it.

It’s not like Loki’s a wooly mess from hip to hip to start with. His sack is only lightly furred, the tiny curls there so light brown that they’re almost blonde, and the delicate line of dark fuzz extending down past the top of his pelvis only casts the faintest of shadows. Even so, the thicket of hair that actually surrounds his penis is springy and dense; too skimpy a thong isn’t going to be an attractive option. Even if Thor, who’s always been one to value function over form, probably wouldn’t mind (or notice), Loki wants to look _amazing_.

Good amazing.

It takes quite a bit of hunting before he finds what he’s looking for; sleek, black, with deep green lace edging and better coverage. And just in case they’re not quite so awesome-looking in real life, he buys three different pairs. Yes, they’re not returnable. No, he doesn’t really care. Whatever doesn’t look all that great on him, Loki will just make Thor wear some other time.

Now that you mention it, he might just do that anyway.

~

With all the shopping behind him Loki gets work. Sure, the clothes play a big part in setting the mood, but the rest – the harder part, or at least the more time-consuming one - is all about preparation, preparation, preparation. Loki makes their dinner reservation weeks ahead, as soon as the restaurant will take it. Not like Thor needs to know that, and it’s not something he plans on confessing, but there’s no way Loki’s leaving the ultimate success of this expensive, nerve-wracking venture up to dumb luck.

The exact date is set. The rest of the plan falls into place behind it. Loki wants to look and feel (in the _under Thor’s hands_ sense) as good as possible; the first thing he does is step up his time in the gym. On the off chance Thor notices, Loki knows he can explain his more frequent workouts easily enough: it’s fall. The club is rowing, and he needs to (re)build the muscle mass he tends to lose over the summer.

One afternoon when Thor is still at class, Loki tries his suit pants on. They break nicely over his shoes when he’s standing, but – no matter how he holds himself - sitting tends to unveil at least a small slice of leg. That isn’t going to work. Even if the lights are low and Thor’s highly unlikely to notice, Loki knows he will be on edge all evening worrying about it. And that won’t do. Not considering how tense he’s inevitably bound to be. Not. Gonna. Work. He needs to cover his ankles up somehow.

Boots would probably be the best choice, but he doesn’t own any dressy, suit-appropriate ones. His clunky black favorites are perfect with tight jeans (and not at all bad with- with nothing whatsoever) but they aren’t going work in this particular situation. Instead Loki chooses a soft pair of delicate, loose-knit socks, in black, from one of the little clothing boutique near campus. He can pull them on over his stockings to hide his little secret all through dinner, without leaving his feet lint-covered and stinky or his ankles dented.

And while he’s out sock hunting, he finds a tiny salon that does men’s waxing. Yes, they’d be happy to do just his legs. The soft, pale peach fuzz on his rear isn’t going to be visible anyway.

“You won’t want to schedule hair removal right before a night out,” the soft-spoken, earnest woman at the counter tells Loki. The whole conversation is beyond awkward… she reminds him way, way too much of his mom. Not that he can really picture Farbauti working in a salon, but-. “Or you run the risk,” she goes on to explain, “of showing up for your big date with a painful rash. Or bruises. Both, even. And nothing ruins a perfectly good evening like trying to explain why your inner thighs are black and blue, you know?”

“Mm.” He forces a smile, to try and hide his nervousness. “I can imagine.” He assures her he doesn’t bruise easily, though, and they ultimately settle on two or three days beforehand – Tuesday or Wednesday, prior to his planned Friday evening outing - to give his skin at least a little bit of time to recover.

~

Loki hates the look of hair crushed under stockings. Consequently, waxing is definitely going to happen. But even after visiting the salon Loki still can’t make up his mind about the _how_ of it; he waffles for a couple of weeks over who exactly ought to be separating him from his leg hair. Getting waxed at the salon will pose a logistical challenge, especially if the weather isn't awesome. It's also bound to cost more, right on the heels of buying all this finery, and it’s going to mean finding a way to sneak into town without Thor's knowing (and then wanting to tag along).

Historically, doing so without arousing all name of suspicion has invariably proved difficult. And if Thor does somehow catch wind of any of it, the whole business will look horribly shady. Last (and least, but it still doesn't thrill him), there's the whole bit about getting nearly naked while a pleasantly chatty stranger yanks hair off his scrawny, milk-white body. So very, very much can go wrong. What if he farts? What if he _likes_ it and stands up a tent pole? The opportunities for humiliation are both numerous and disturbing.

But Loki's also heard (well, read) all sorts of do-it-yourself-er horror stories, from crap results that require hours of painstaking tweezing all the way to _tearing off chunks of your own fucking skin_. And he certainly doesn't want to leave himself in a state where he would have been better off just leaving his hair to it own devices.

The decision ultimately makes itself. It starts with the football team. Thor’s not playing this season, as he's no longer eligible, but his favorite-ever football coach had hired him on at the season's start as some sort of team assistant. Of course there were details, oh so many details, but they'd proved altogether too tedious (meaning Loki might not quite have given them his full attention). Out of the blue said coach asks Thor to help out with a short recruitment trip. Thor comes home endearingly apologetic - he'll be gone one overnight, he'll make it up to Loki, it's just this once and not a regular thing - and Loki (who would probably normally be a little put out about Thor’s voluntarily staying away overnight, except that this time it couldn’t be more convenient) has to fight hard not to burst out laughing.

Grinning ear to ear.

The salon it is, then.

~

Loki's so nervous he's shaking, which is ridiculous. It's just a little hair; his calves, mostly, and the occasional dark stray along his inner thighs. And the tops of his feet and toes. Most of the growth on his upper legs is pale and fine and nearly invisible. It's not going to show under his thigh-highs at all, let alone look awful.

The girl doing the waxing is very nice, though, in a calming professional, non-flirty way. The bed/table is covered in soft towels, and the room smells like spice cookies. She gives him a snuggly fleece throw and a satin sleep mask and tells him he can watch if he likes. "But you're welcome to relax, too," she offers. "I would say you could nap, but this won't take very long."

It doesn't. The wax is warm and soothing, not the least bit uncomfortably hot. Removal itself is quick, too, surprisingly so. Each new strip is off before his brain catches up to the pain; Loki only cries out after the first one, and even that's more the surprise than anything. Ten minutes and he's sleek and smooth and smarting.

The esthetician massages in something cool and soothing. "Here's some to take with you," she says as she sets a fat tube in his hand. "And this" - she holds up a much smaller container, blue with a white lid - "will help prevent bumps and ingrowns. Up you go." She offers him a hand, but after something like this Loki is a sad, proud creature. He sits up unassisted and hops off the table.

His legs feel so weird when he pulls his sweats on.

"No bathing tonight," she reminds him as he straightens his clothing, "and only lukewarm water in the morning. Now go home and give those pretty legs of yours a break."

Loki does. His body needs a breather, and his mind right along with it. 

He’d already planned to ride the bus back to campus - no chafing, no sweating, no getting too warm and no freezing - and then hole up in bed. And that’s exactly how it works: flawlessly. There’s nothing like a perfectly good plan, well executed. It isn’t until he’s on the bus, halfway back to campus, that he gradually stops basking in the light of his own glorious success and reality begins to sinks in: for almost three straight days, he’s going to have to hide his (at first irritated, and then) sleekly hairless legs from- from anyone and everyone. Because even if Thor is too busy to notice, which isn’t all that unlikely given the night away and the subsequent busy few days lying ahead of them, any person the two of them both know could still notice the change and unwittingly cost Loki his secret.

To top it off he has to keep it all hush-hush in relatively moderate weather… not the wintery sort of yuck where he might actually wear long underwear to bed. Or soft flannel pajamas… or his perfect winter go-to bottoms: thick, cozy yoga leggings. They’re what he lives in, at least in the dorms, all through the heart of winter. And nobody raises an eyebrow more than once… when any given person (male or female) actually stops to take an objective look at all that nice, stretchy fabric hugging Loki’s legs and ass, he/she generally can’t help but admit that it’s all making the everyday scenery a whole lot better.

~

Bed is nice, almost too nice. Loki skips dinner. The idea of having perfectly bare legs is a pleasing one, and after a little exploratory touching he briefly entertains the idea of pulling himself off over it. He even starts, or at least he means to.

But he’s completely worn out, as much from stress as anything. On top of which, as the rest of the day has unfolded, it’s hard to miss: what he actually is, more than anything else, is uncomfortable. Because now that he’s in relaxing in bed his legs have somehow found a way to violate the laws of physics and are both painfully hot and cold at the same time (and that’s not to mention banged-up and puffy and altogether miserable). Loki throws off the covers with a groan and grabs the big tube of cream to slather all over his poor, insulted skin. The stuff smells like mint and is soothing enough that he rubs that batch in and applies another coat, over and over. “I guess I kind of overdid it at the gym,” he tells himself with careful sincerity, practicing his excuses for Thor.

Except that, by the time Thor calls to wish him goodnight, Loki's sleeping so soundly that his phone almost doesn't rouse him. "Nah, it was just my homework," Loki fibs when Thor asks if he's feeling under the weather. He yawns, long and loud. "I had tons and tons of reading, all of it incredibly boring." Loki rolls over and curls up on his side. His legs slide over the sheets. It’s distracting. “I love you,” he reminds Thor. “Hurry home.”

~

Thursday afternoon he pulls on a pair of leggings for crew practice, but even in the locker room they’re uncomfortable against his still-tender skin. Loki ducks into a stall, the one on the end that’s the best lit of all his options, and inspects himself closely. Objectively speaking his legs don’t look bad today; the swelling has gone completely down and only his inner thighs are a little red. If he didn’t know better, he’d think he was looking at beard burn. Which is the perfect diversion; the state of his thighs will go a long way towards keeping all eyes off his unusually naked calves. He ends up pulling on his shortest rowing shorts and wearing them proudly, putting everything he has on display. He smiles to himself every time he catches someone looking. Sometimes it’s actually useful to have everyone jumping to the wrong conclusion.

~

That evening, both Loki and Thor have short papers to write. They hole up at one of the tables in the stacks, as close as they can get to the top of the library - Thor is of the opinion that studying in his room would be way too chancy, especially after a night apart, and it’s a theory that (sadly, yes, but) convincingly plays right into Loki's plan. Loki's careful not to bother really arguing, and Thor is too distracted to notice.

It isn’t much fun, though. Every so often Loki takes a moment to stretch and looks longingly at the line of big, soft armchairs underneath the windows. Normally the two of them both enjoy curling up in one (together), but that does tend to be the sort of arrangement that results in to too much snuggling and not enough typing. Especially because sharing a chair with someone Thor’s size means ending up draped across him.

They work until they can't keep their eyes open. Once they've dragged themselves back to the dorm, they peel off their clothes and fall into bed together.

Normally Loki's a bit put out when Thor falls asleep in the middle of a make-out session. Tonight, it's handy. He rolls with it. And it’s not like falling asleep with a boner’s ever killed anybody.

~

When he scrambles out of bed Friday morning, the first thing Loki notices (besides the way Thor’s drooled on his pillow, despite all the conversations they’ve had about grave and punishable offenses) is that his legs feel much, much better. He runs his hands up and down them. _Nice_. The tenderness has finally abated and his skin is silky-smooth.

Which is perfect timing; today is Date Day! Loki can barely contain his excitement. Once Thor wakes up – Loki’s already been awake for too long, up far earlier than normal but too excited and anxious to get back to sleep - the two of them pad down to the bathroom together. While Thor is using one of the showers Loki sneaks the chance to inspect his legs in the big mirror opposite the urinals; his skin looks good - pale and sleek, without a hint of redness anywhere - and feels lovely. He’s perfect. Well, except – he sniffs at one armpit and makes a wry face – that he clearly could be cleaner. This semester his Fridays aren’t terrible schedule-wise; he’ll have time to deal with that part later.

He stops checking himself out, abruptly, when one of the guys who lives down the hall pushes open the bathroom door and heads straight for the showers. Standing around the bathroom doing absolutely nothing is only going to leave him looking like a creeper (and standing around obviously waiting for Thor isn’t going to help things any), so Loki occupies himself brushing his teeth and gathering his dirty hair into a ponytail. While he normally tries not to be one of the unwashed losers who drag their filthy asses into class in their wrinkled, smelly pajamas, heading back to the library in his current disgusting state is a little more workable. Especially considering how most of his fellow students are in class anyway. And he doesn’t look all that bad; he’ll be fine as long as he stays out of sniffing range.

Time crawls so slowly, it might as well be moving backwards. Once Thor heads off to class Loki forces himself to spend what’s left of the morning studying. He comes back to the dorm to shower right around lunchtime (late enough to still smell nice, but not so close to dinner that his hair's all crazy). Sweating won’t do… he pulls on a pair of loose, baggy lounge pants, sans underwear. And then he goes to class anyway.

~

It feels like an eternity before his last class is finally over. Loki skips the gym and hurries back to Thor’s room. He methodically kneads his legs with almond oil – the mint cream smells great and feels better but (based on a recent experiment he’s not admitting to anyone) tastes kind of nasty - while Thor is still at practice. Afterwards, he towels the excess oil off of his smooth, soft legs and starts slipping into his fancy new underthings.

The stockings are- strange. They don’t fit like socks at all, even really thin ones, and they somehow manage to feel even less like his leggings. Instead they glide over his skin, cool and lightweight and almost slippery. When he moves air breezes through them and makes him shiver. It takes some precise, careful maneuvering to get the seams right… and to line everything up with the garter belt. In fact, it takes him all the time he has to spare; Thor will be here any minute. But regardless, all his efforts are so worth it. Loki quickly checks himself out in the mirror over Thor’s little sink. His legs look a million miles long… and fantastic. Some of the best he’s ever seen, probably, and when it comes to legs he’s a pretty harsh critic.

Harsh, and terrified. He looks himself up and down again… and he’s _not_ special. He’s just an awkward, dorky college kid sporting women’s underwear. For just an instant, he’s so powerfully apprehensive that he feels sick. It’s stupid. He’s beautiful. Thor isn’t going to judge his weak, shitty acting, not with all of this to look at. Loki draws a shaky breath and then another, until he’s pushed the whole thing down. Everything is fine.

If he simply opts to slink around like this and surprise Thor right here in the room, the whole event could all be over before it’s really gotten started. But because Loki really does want to do it right – which means having that nice, nice dinner along the way from here to dicktown– he’s already wearing his suit pants, socks, and shoes when Thor gets back after practice. He’s also pulled on an undershirt (a nice thick cottony one… it conveniently hides the top of his garter belt, which would otherwise show when he bends forward from the hips or stretches), along with his freshly pressed (thank you, Frigga!), unbuttoned dress shirt. 

The door swings open and then shuts with a clang. “Hi, baby,” Thor says fondly. Loki ducks out from under Thor’s hug, insisting that he’s in a hurry. It’s true; they only have a little more than half an hour left before they need to leave, and Loki still needs to do something with his hair and then shave. And he’s not the only one; Thor needs to wash up from practice before getting dressed, too. They’ll have plenty of time, he reminds his grumpy, pouty boyfriend, to fraternize later.

Oh, will they ever. Just the same it’s hard to say no now, all the while knowing what lies ahead. Loki can barely contain himself. It’s _hard_ waiting. Figuratively, literally.

He finishes shaving while Thor ducks down to the bathroom for a quick rinse-off. Loki takes the opportunity to twist and turn, checking himself out yet again from every angle he can manage. Surprisingly, everything stays put properly. Nothing rides up or bulges. His entire outfit _behaves_.

Unlike his stupid, annoying hair; he’s still fussing with that when Thor has finished dressing.

They face off between the bed and the closet. “You look great,” Thor tells Loki after looking him up and down. “I’m almost sorry we’re going out. We could just stay here and-.”

“Later,” Loki says, swatting Thor’s hands away. “After dinner, okay? And you don’t look bad yourself.” In fact, Thor looks amazing. “We still clean up pretty nicely, apparently.”

“Mm.” Thor offers Loki an arm. “Shall we head out to our waiting chariot?”

“Chariot?” Loki snorts. “Right.” Thor had offered to hire a car service, but it’s money they don’t have (especially considering what he’s already spent on all these sexy things) and Loki had ended up vetoing it. “Try _bus_ , more like it.”

“Whose fault is that,” Thor asks, and Loki sticks out his tongue. It’s never smart to assume hotness implies maturity.

~

Dinner poses a series of expected challenges. Even just getting there is something; Loki’s undergarments shift and tug in all sorts of ways he’s not used to. It’s distracting; a constant reminder that something’s _there_ , in places he’s never had clothing like this before. He has to really work at walking normally and gracefully, especially up the bus steps. When he crosses his legs, he practically sees stars. He uncrosses them almost immediately, all the while fervently hoping no one noticed.

The restaurant, though, is at least as nice as he’d hoped. Nicer, even, with soft mood lighting and quality live jazz that’s loud enough to enjoy but not so ridiculous that it poses any barrier to normal conversation. Thor pulls out Loki’s chair like a gentleman and then leans down to kiss him. “I can’t wait to get you alone,” Thor tells him quietly before sitting across the table from him. “You have no idea what I want to do to you.”

Loki hums. Purrs, more like it. He can still feel the brush of Thor’s lips against his temple. “Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure if I were you.”

Every time he shifts in his seat the silky fabric gives a little. It’s not uncomfortable, precisely; it’s just a constant reminder that they’re going back to campus in an hour or so, for the kind of evening they’ll always remember.

Garments as poetry.

Okay, yeah, no. It’s nothing that fancy. Pure and simple, Loki is horny… so very fucking horny he can barely function.

“How’s your risotto,” Thor asks him a few minutes later, sounding just a touch worried. “Is it okay? You seem kind of- fidgety.”

“It’s delicious,” Loki offers, licking his lips. “It’s just my- my underwear keeps riding up a little.” He hopes the candlelight hides the way his face is burning, because he doesn’t want to give anything away. Not yet. The surprise is so much a part of it; the big reveal. “How about yours? Is that steak as good as it looks?”

He should pay attention to Thor’s response. Not happening. All he can do is smile and nod.

~

“That was lovely, and delicious,” Thor tells him as they walk hand-in-hand (a little impatiently) home from the closest bus stop to their dorm. “And it was the nicest end to such a crappy week. But I feel like I haven’t touched you in days. I really just want to be alone with you.”

“And have a little wine,” Loki adds. The anxiety is starting to build again, in waves that threaten to rob him of his nerve. Fortunately Thor has a few bottles stashed in his room, now that he’s legal and Loki still isn’t. They don’t dip into it all that often. Tonight, though, they’re making an event of things. And making an event feels like it might be easier with a little liquid courage.

~

“Take off your suit and hang it up neatly,” Loki instructs. He’s being bossy for a reason, yes, but these are the best clothes they own, by far… much too nice to treat badly. “And your shirt. The rest, you can leave on or take off. Whatever you like. But you have to sit and wait for me on the bed. Ah-ah… my idea, my rules,” he chides when Thor doesn’t quite cooperate. “I’ll make it worth your while. I promise.”

Despite all his careful planning Loki’s own striptease feels clumsy and amateurish. His hands just don’t want to cooperate. He’s only had half a glass of wine so far, too – which, on top of all that food, should be pretty much nothing – but he’s still managing to be a little wobbly. He fumbles his tie and struggles with his shirt buttons.

None of it matters. Not at all. All that mounting nervousness drains away as soon as he realizes that his boyfriend’s caught on to what’s happening.

“Holy _fuck_ ,” Thor says as Loki stretches up and pulls his t-shirt over his head. Their room is just this side of chilly; even so, he doesn’t think it’s the cool air that’s perking up his nipples and bringing goosebumps to his skin. “Wait. Loki. _What_ are you wearing?”

Loki turns around, twisting to watch Thor over his own shoulder. He wriggles partway out of his pants, enough that his whole ass and the tops of his thighs are exposed. “Why,” he asks. The words come out high and airy, not at all like he’d intended. “Do you like what you see?”

Thor’s lips are parted; his eyes, wide and dark. He clears his throat. “Uh, yeah. You could say that. Take the rest off? The suit, I mean, not” – he gestures vaguely with one hand, up and down – “this stuff. This can say on.” Loki lets his pants pool briefly around his feet before stepping out of them. “Holy fuck,” Thor says again, voice rougher this time, as Loki bends from the hips to collect his clothing and then hangs each piece neatly over the back of Thor’s desk chair. “Come here, baby.”

“Patience,” Loki whispers, despite how his own is wearing very thin. He turns another half-circle, letting Thor see the whole ensemble before they get too close together. There’s going to come a point – any second now – where they will slam together like iron and magnet. After that, there will be no stopping them from getting down to- to whatever it is they’re going to be getting down to.

“No,” Thor growls. The hint of something low and dangerous in his voice sends a jolt of pleasure down Loki’s spine and straight into those silky little panties. “Don’t. I’m all out of patience. Come here. Now.”

Loki his to shut his eyes for a moment to get his balance. _Deep breaths_. He comes up onto his toes, working his legs to best effect, and tiptoes over to stand at the bedside. Reporting for inspection this close to Thor’s flushed face, he can’t avoid another little dip into self-consciousness. “So this is okay,” he asks quietly. “I wasn’t sure you would be into it.”

“Baby,” Thor says on the beginnings of a groan. He leans in, lips brushing Loki’s lower belly between garter belt and panties. “Stop. You look amazing.” He settles big, warm hands on the outsides of Loki’s thighs. “And your legs are so smooth. Fuck. What did you do to yourself?”

“Just made myself nice for you,” Loki tells Thor. He doesn’t giggle or make a face, but it’s a close call. They really, really need to get moving. He can’t do this kind of dirty talk, not without feeling completely ridiculous. And nothing kills a mood faster than being so painfully self-aware. “Nothing I know- you don’t- like- ohhhh,” he tries to promise, faltering and then losing his words completely when Thor kisses across from hipbone to hipbone and then comes back to mouth at his dick through the silky fabric of his panties. Oh, yesss, that’s more like it. Hot breath, hotter tongue. “I- oh god- Thor- I just-…”

He can’t remember anything he’d been intending to say. Not that it really matters.

Thor stands in one smooth motion and spins them both around, using their momentum to push Loki down onto the bed. “Let me see,” he insists as Loki struggles. He clears his throat; his voice is still rough. “I just want to look. I promise I won’t hurt you.”

Loki snorts, right in the middle of everything. He’s tried his best and he simply can’t do this playacting. Not tonight, anyway. “Please don’t just look, Thor. I’ll fucking die.”

For a solid minute they can’t stop laughing. Loki finally manages to get out a tremulous “Thooorrr,” and then “okay,” he pants, “new rule. No talking.” They laugh a little more, but things are back under control. After a few seconds Thor sinks down to kneel on the floor between Loki’s feet. Finally.

Thor kisses the little bony prominence on the inside of Loki’s knee, the one that hurts so badly when you bump it, through the delicate stocking. “Mm,” he hums. “You taste like a cookie.”

“Shh,” Loki tries to admonish, but it ends in a squeak as Thor bites the soft flesh of his inner thigh. “Please.”

~

Like so many things, it all looks easier on the Internet somehow. Thor keeps worrying aloud about ruining Loki’s stockings, and neither of them can figure out how to get the panties out of the way without unfastening pretty much everything. Which is how Loki’s come to be sprawled on the bed, dressed in nothing but a garter belt, with one foot bare and a stocking down around his other ankle. Everything else- well, they’ll find it in the morning. But none of that matters, because he has both hands tangled in Thor’s messy hair and one leg thrown over Thor’s shoulder. Thor, by turns, has his hips pinned to the bed and is busily (and noisily) taking his dick farther down than Loki’s ever, ever had it taken.

They’re both panting, sloppy messes. All Loki can do is twitch and gasp and chant Thor’s name to the ceiling in an unholy litany and then he’s coming down Thor’s throat and Thor’s choking and sputtering and they’re collapsing in a wet heap together.

~

“I left- you hanging,” Loki grits out a few minutes later. The mix of sweat, spit, and come on his stomach has cooled; he’s shivering, and not because he’s turned on this time. “After everything you did for me. So sorry.” He would at least offer to jerk Thor off, except he’s way too tired to move at the moment.

Thor laughs into Loki’s ribs. It’s not much more than a raw-sounding croak. “I think I- um- well, I used your calf. I’m all good. You can thank me later.”

It’s true, now that he thinks about it; his right ankle is cold. “Pig.” Loki giggles. He pets Thor’s hair. They’re both disgusting. “We should wash up, shouldn’t we,” he admits. The sink over by the door feels very, very far away, so far that it might as well be on another planet.

“We should,” Thor agrees, manhandling Loki – still in his garter belt, with one foot still stocking-clad and the other (sticky, and) bare – all the way up onto the bed before flopping back down and pulling the covers over both of them. Thor’s lips press the back of Loki’s neck. “I will if you do.”

“I can’t,” Loki sighs. “I’m sorry.”

~

Loki blinks awake. It’s lighter in the room than he expected somehow, and he has to pee so badly it’s almost an emergency. His legs peel apart, and there’s something caught tight around his middle, and- _oh_. He struggles up onto his elbows and looks at the wreck that is their bed. He can only guess he’d gotten really cold in the night; Thor is backed up against the wall, snoring gently, while he himself is tangled in a marshmallow cloud of sheets and comforters. His body is pink-striped where the garter belt has dug into his skin.

Thor has a fat lip, earned before he’d managed to pin Loki down properly. Loki kisses a cold finger and touches the bruise very, very lightly. “I’m sorry,” he whispers again. It’s one of the last things he remembers saying.

“Hm?” Thor’s eyes stay closed, but both golden eyebrows pull up and in. “I love you. Don’t be.”

“Ugh,” Loki grumbles. “I really, really need to use the bathroom.”

“Maybe you should just pee in the sink,” Thor kids him. It’s a running joke between them, one Loki finds just a little too disgusting. Not that they haven’t stooped that low once or twice, when they’ve been drinking. But never in the morning (at least, he hopes it’s still morning), sober. “No? Fine. Suit yourself. But at least put some clothes on.”


End file.
